


In His Absence

by b_ofdale



Series: Home [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, POV Genji Shimada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 20:30:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16144940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_ofdale/pseuds/b_ofdale
Summary: McCree's disappearance is the heavy price the team must pay when a mission goes wrong. Hanging on to hope despite all the blood left behind, Genji tries his best to help Hanzo get through the days in his absence.





	In His Absence

**Author's Note:**

> This... kinda came out of nowhere. Woke up at 5AM one day, had the idea and the urge to write it, fell back asleep, and started writing it as soon as I woke up. Finished the draft that same day. Meanwhile, I'm still not done with the sequel to my previous fic, nor with its prequel... (but I'm working on them!) Typical writing problem, smh.
> 
> It was also supposed to be 1.5k, yet here I am. Classic. You know how it is. 
> 
> Anyway, it was painful but I loved writing it! Enjoy :)
> 
> And as always, many thanks to [Liz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnsmoore) for the editing! 
> 
> (also, I don't know if Overwatch's aircraft-thing has a escape shuttle, but for this fic let's pretend that it does)

The steam from the bowl of rice in Genji’s hands rises up, quickly disappearing against the dark blue of the sky. The smell going through his sensors is pleasant, reminding him of home during those few, short years when home was kind. 

He cannot cook anything else. On another occasion, his brother would tease him about it.

Tonight, Hanzo is sitting by the cliffs, eyes closed in thought or to block out the rays of the setting sun, Genji cannot quite tell from where he stands. His heart constricts in his chest—it has never been an easy sight, and it would never be.

Genji approaches slowly, quietly, but his steps are just loud enough that he will not startle Hanzo. He sits down next to him, metallic legs hanging off the precipice. He hands him the bowl of rice, and to his relief, his brother takes it before voicing a small, almost silent thanks in response.

Hanzo’s a mess. Strands of hair have escaped his ponytail, he looks smaller than he has in years, and the dark circles under his eyes confirm to Genji that lately, he has barely been sleeping.

Is it so surprising, though? 

The anchor that helped to hold him together is gone.

Somewhere under them, there's the cavity in the rock of Gibraltar’s cliffs that Genji knows to be his and McCree’s spot. Hanzo hasn't gone down there since it happened. Like he has no right to. Like being there alone would be and feel _wrong_.

All he's got now is a torn piece of a red serape, held tightly in his hand when it isn't bound just as tightly around his wrist.

It's all the remains they found of him, when they came back to look for McCree after the mission on Route 66 had gone adrift. All that was left were some dead Talon agents’ bodies, the aircraft’s empty escape shuttle, some blood, and the long, thin piece of clothing.

McCree’s intercom had been broken in the fight. There was no way to trace him. 

They hadn’t been prepared; it should have been a quick and easy mission. 

They'd looked for him. They'd searched day and night, sending different teams over a few days, Hanzo always amongst them. They'd found nothing else, and no one else.

Hanzo had shouted in furious anger, when the shuttle was brought back two weeks later. They'd brought back the shuttle, but no one had the heart for a funeral. Genji feared it would finally break Hanzo. He feared the team would take a blow that would be difficult to recover from and to forgive themselves for. 

Perhaps, they could hang on to hope, just a little bit longer.

“You have been looking back there again, haven't you.” 

It isn't truly a question, but Hanzo nods nonetheless. He doesn't look at his younger brother, only stares ahead, eyes glazed over.

“Are you going to tell me that it is useless? That I should simply _give up_ on him?” There's no heat to Hanzo’s voice. It sounds like he is voicing the thoughts he hates himself for even imagining, but at the same time, fearing the others will express these same thoughts, someday. There's something else underneath, a message that Genji knows his brother well enough to hear: ‘Give up on him, like I once gave up on you.’ 

“No,” Genji says. “If it helps you—if there is even the slightest chance that Jesse's still out there. . . It would be cruel to tell you that.” 

Hanzo nods again. He eats a spoonful of rice, then another, and silence falls upon them again. 

Genji watches him from the corner of his eyes. It sets an uncomfortable lump in his throat from the way his brother is hurting. It's a pain that's raw, open for all to see. No one knows how to help, but they all try. Even Angela, who's never been entirely fond of Hanzo, once brought him a cup of tea, while a sad, considerate smile graced her lips.

McCree would know what to do; it always came so naturally to him, how he could figure out what Hanzo needed, what he could and couldn't do. . . but he's not there. Instead, he's the cause of that pain, and though Genji has been there for his brother in the past, this is a different kind of pain, one that he doesn't know how to best ease, and he feels helpless. 

He can only offer his presence, his own love and his understanding, and from the tears that well up in Hanzo’s eyes, _finally_ threatening to fall, he figures that for now, that is enough. 

“I miss him,” Hanzo says, his voice cracking, like it was waiting for those exact words to be spoken to only just break. 

“I know.” Genji’s voice is soft. He keeps the emotion caused by his heartache to himself, because his brother’s own is already too heavy to be carried alone, crushing him. Gently, he puts his hand on Hanzo’s shoulder blade, before sliding his arm around his shoulders, somewhat tentatively. “I miss him, too.”

Hanzo doesn't reject the gesture. Instead, he lets out a long, shaky breath, that under another circumstance wouldn't be quite like him to do, but eventually leans against his brother, and cries. He cries for a long time, and Genji holds him, and if this time the shaking of his own shoulders betrays him, he doesn't try to stop it.

  


~•§•~

Life on the base isn't the same with McCree no longer around. Everything feels duller.

No jiggling of spurs announcing deep, honest laughs echoing across the halls. There are no cups of coffee waiting for the usual insomniacs, no Taco Tuesday. There are no blankets left on Hana and Lúcio’s shoulders when they fall asleep on the sofa after a long stream. No shooting competitions. There's no one to soothe the aftermath of Hanzo’s nightmares, no cowboy to offer a warm hug or a listening ear to whoever looks sad that day.

Genji senses it: how much they all feel it and miss it. They all hope that they're wrong, this time; that McCree is still somewhere, and that he will come back, like he always does when things don't go quite as well as they had planned. 

However this time, he doesn't, and the empty space where he used to sit at dinner cuts the hunger from their bellies, the sofa where he often snuggled and fell asleep with Hanzo is always empty. His bottle of hot sauce remains in its place, untouched. His guitar takes the dust in the corner of the common room. 

Each day that passes, their hope diminishes.

But, at least, no one has to go through those days on their own, if they don’t wish to. 

When she’s around, Hanzo spends more time with Fareeha than he's ever had. If there is one thing they have in common, it's their love for McCree, and from the beginning it was what eventually brought them closer. But Fareeha has her own way to deal with pain, and it is through work. She's often gone again before the next day starts. 

At dinner, Hanzo sits alone, barely touching his food. No one's in the mood for laughter and appreciating the good food. He is never alone for long, though: each time that Genji doesn't, Hana joins him. She sits by his side and smiles at him, and sometimes she says nothing, offering him silent company, and sometimes she talks, tries to get a reaction out of him. Genji used to be surprised when she managed to make him smile, albeit sadly, but he's grateful for it. It's the hope that still resides in his brother, poking the tip of its nose. 

Some days, Genji catches him sitting with Ana, exchanging quiet, hushed words. They look fragile, the both of them. Ana was on the mission, was the one who lost sight of McCree. (Genji doesn’t want to even imagine the state Hanzo would be in now, if he had been, too; what the guilt would have done to him.) She blames herself, and their interactions are, from what Genji understood, essential for them both; by talking about McCree with her, Hanzo assures Ana that he does not hold her responsible. In exchange, Ana retells all that she remembers, anything that might reassure Hanzo, keep him standing. She wants to believe that the man she's seen grow up, the man who is like a son in her eyes, is alive, as much as they all do. 

Mei never fails to bring him a cup of her famous hot chocolate, while Brigitte brings him a slice of cake that she made. 

Zenyatta, Reinhardt, Morrisson and Lena are on an important mission at the other end of the world. They call every day, asking for news. Often Genji finds himself wishing that his Master would be there by his side, speaking all the right words to help him fall asleep, the gentle warmth of an orb of harmony over his head. 

For what feels like weeks, nothing happens. A sort of routine has settled, despite McCree’s absence on everyone’s mind. 

Until one day, unexpected like these things often are, Fareeha comes back from one last check on Route 66; she holds McCree’s hat between her hands. Found between rocks, protected from the wind, away from sight. Dried blood where McCree’s forehead should be. When he sees it, Genji feels like all air has been punched out of his lungs. The tip of his fingers shake, and he has to fight with all of his will not to let panic overcome him. Ana manages, too; she merely clasps her hand over her mouth, tears quickly gathering at the corners of her eyes. Hanzo, however, has too little strength left not to. Genji knows that his brother hates himself for not finding it sooner. 

He thinks he will never be able to forget the sound that escapes Hanzo as he sees it; not quite a cry, not quite a whimper, but filled with more despair than one should be able to feel all the same. And, as he watches his brother crumble, take the precious hat that Fareeha hands to him, her own face the picture of grief, so softly, so carefully that one might believe it to be made of glass, Genji thinks that maybe, this is it. Maybe this is the moment Hanzo doesn't come back from.

Hanzo keeps the hat close. He's rarely seen without it, sometimes pressing it against his chest and kissing its brim when he thinks no one can see him. He's doing worse—isolates himself more, Genji only checking on him because he knows where to find him. 

It would be easy, to tell Hanzo to let go. That perhaps it is time to accept that McCree will not come back. Yet, Genji cannot bring himself to do it. He doesn't want to say it. He doesn't want to hear it, either. He wants to hang on a little while longer to the belief that McCree could still be alive.

Instead, he stays by Hanzo’s side, and Genji can tell once more how much his brother has changed over the past two years, for he doesn't ignore Genji’s grief. He offers his own kind of comfort; he never hides where Genji would not be able to find him, lets him rest his head over his shoulder, wherever they are. 

“Do not hide your own pain for my sake,” Hanzo had said one day, his voice rough and tired, but determined, before emptying what was left of his bottle of saké. “You are close to him, too. For much longer than I have been. It is not fair that you should keep how you feel to yourself, as I’ve noticed you have been doing.”

Genji had looked towards the horizon, his hands held together tightly over his legs. He’d sighed, shaken his head, then smiled slightly behind his face plate. “Alright,” he’d said, and since then spending time with Hanzo had felt more like sharing a weight rather than trying to carry two different, yet similar ones in silence. 

The following night, he follows McCree and Hanzo’s cat to their room. The door is unlocked, and Hanzo sits on the bed, the hat in his lap. It has never looked and felt so empty. The cat immediately jumps by his side, sniffing at his owner’s—‘his dad’s’, McCree would have joked—hat. Hanzo absentmindedly pets her, scratches her behind the ears as he murmurs quiet words that Genji cannot quite discern from where he stands by the door. He closes it behind him, waits for Hanzo to acknowledge him in any way to sit next to him, or to go, if he doesn’t want him there tonight. 

The nod of Hanzo’s head is almost imperceptible. 

Genji sits. He rests his hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. The cat doesn’t purr. Meanwhile, Hanzo brushes the brim of McCree’s hat from the tip of his fingers. They say nothing, and yet, everything.

  


~•§•~

When the fourth week since McCree’s disappearance starts, Genji is back on the cliffs, holding a bowl of rice once more. The sun is still low on the horizon, not yet covering the base in its morning light.

Hanzo, as always, is sitting crossed-legged on the ground. He takes the bowl when Genji hands it to him, but doesn’t spare it a glance, merely letting it rest between his hands, over his lap. His eyes are resolutely closed, his breaths even, but his features strained, marked with days upon days of insomnia and dark thoughts eating at him. Genji is aware, too, that seeing the hollowness in Hanzo’s eyes would hurt him, and that Hanzo wishes to protect him from that. 

Genji takes a deep breath, settling on meditating until the sun marks the time to join the others for breakfast. Without a doubt Hanzo will stay here, and Genji can do little else but hope that he will at least eat. 

His meditation, however, is cut short before he can reach the necessary state of mind, by the last thing he would have expected to hear on a day as sad as this. 

“Hanzo!”

Genji freezes. He first believes he’s imagined McCree’s voice, calling out his brother’s name. He slowly turns his head to look at Hanzo, but he hasn’t moved. He’s heard it too, he’s certain of it, yet there’s only grief, stronger than before, across his face. His fingers tremble around the bowl of rice. 

“Brother,” Genji says. “Did you hear—” 

He sees Hanzo’s eyes open and widen, but doesn’t wait for his reply before fully turning around as his own name interrupts him in that same exhausted, familiar voice, and then—

“Hanzo, darlin’, I knew I’d find you here. I sure am glad y’re in good company.”

Hanzo has scrambled up to his feet faster than Genji can comprehend what is happening. The bowl hits the ground, but doesn’t break. Some of the rice, untouched, rolls down the cliffs. Genji follows suit, opening his face plate and staring in shock at McCree, standing there, right there, before their eyes. Grinning tiredly, giving a weak shrug of his shoulders, almost like he hasn’t been missing for three weeks and left only his own blood behind him. 

Hanzo stares, too, like he doesn’t believe what he’s seeing; McCree looks as exhausted as his voice sounds, weak on his knees, dirty as a dog who rolled around in the mud, blood stains remaining on his clothes. A still healing wound on his forehead that disappears under his hairline. An arm messily bandaged, his metallic hand hovering over his ribs. A pained wince marking his face, fingers clenching over the fabric of his shirt as he takes a step forward.

He has no time to take a second one before Hanzo breathes out his name and runs to him, stopping before he can crash into him, mindful of McCree’s weakened state despite his apparent urge to get as close as he can get. 

“Jesse,” he says, and repeats it, until it gets lost in his throat. “You fool,” he adds, barely a breath, his voice trembling as he raises his hand up to caress McCree’s cheek, and Genji is caught between a smile and a roll of his eyes, by the relief that washes through him, an unexpected gift. 

He drops the hat that he'd been holding. It falls at their feet. Hanzo’s hands start to roam then, touching, feeling for hidden injuries, making sure that McCree won’t disappear again.

It is McCree who stops him, taking Hanzo’s hand to leave a kiss upon his palm, something Genji has lost count of how many times he’s seen them do. There’s something deeply intimate about it, like an unspoken language only they understand. 

“’m here, pumpkin,” he says, his tone serious now, anchored in the gravity of the past weeks. He knows, he must know, how hard it has been, for it has been for him, too; he wears the traces of it on his face. “I’ll be fine, and ain’t goin' anywhere.”

Just like that, it finishes grounding Hanzo. His breath comes out shaky, and as though they have read each other’s mind, McCree lowers his head to meet Hanzo’s forehead in a light press.

The wave of McCree’s other hand is small, like a shy hello, but Genji catches it nonetheless, and answers with a light bow of his head.

Then, says, “About you being a fool—for once, I have to second my brother.”

McCree laughs. At the same time, a broken chuckle escapes Hanzo’s lips. Hanzo glances back to him, and there’s a spark in his eyes that Genji had begun to believe he’d never see again. The breath that Genji takes then, as he watches his brother turn back to McCree, breathing the same air, feels like the first he’s allowed himself in too long a time. 

Hanzo picks the hat up, dusts it off, and puts it gently over McCree’s head, where it belongs. He keeps his hand there as he brings McCree’s lips down to his own in a kiss that is strangely soft in the raw emotions that it holds. There is the path of silent tears across his cheeks, and he swears that McCree’s eyes are brimming with them, too.

It’s his call, Genji guesses.

The others need to know, and until they come and bury their beloved friend in hugs and happy tears, McCree and his brother deserve some time to find each other again.

As he passes them, Genji finds himself laying his hand over McCree’s shoulder, and says, “It’s good to have you back, McCree.” He wipes the wetness off his eyes, waves off the apologies he sees in McCree’s own. There will be time to tell and to explain—but nothing to forgive. “We have all worried much—missed you much.” 

McCree tips his hat, before his arm quickly returns around Hanzo’s shoulders. His face disappears in the croon of Hanzo’s neck. 

And, as the sun rises high enough to bathe them of its light, as the realization hits that there are still bright days ahead, Genji gives the archer and the cowboy reunited at last a final look, and smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> This was kinda experimental, but I hope you liked it nonetheless! Even the shortest comment would make me the happiest writer, and kudos are much appreciated! Thank you for reading! :D
> 
> Find me on Twitter @ [bFound_](https://twitter.com/bFound_), on Tumblr @ [softcowman](http://softcowman.tumblr.com), or on my shipping blog, [barduil](http://barduil.tumblr.com)!


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